In Life and Death
by Newio
Summary: At the age of 102, immortalized in his seventeen years old body and haunted by strangely reoccurring dreams, Harry finally meets Death for the first time. He's not what Harry expected. Time Travel, Harry raises Tom, and eventual Death/Harry/Voldemort
1. Chapter 1: The Beauty of It

Helloooo there, this is _Newio_ reporting, and welcome to first fanfic, _In Life and Death._

Before you go on, do be aware that this story focuses a lot on the relationship between Death and Harry, as well as the recursions that come along with being Death's favorite. OCs are bound to occur, since the story will take place in both future and past, where most of the characters are either dead or yet to be born. The endgame is indeed Death/Harry/Voldemort (let the world burn), but that's still a very long way to go.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Having said that, if you are still here, I hope you enjoy this intro chapter!

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Chapter 1: The Beauty of It

* * *

In his dream, Harry sees three things: the sky, the ocean, and the boat.

It's black and raging, this sky. It roars with madness, signaling the incoming storm. Yet the ocean is eerily calm, and there's no life. The water is icy cold when he touch it, but when he pull his fingers out, his skin are black and marred. Marked with fire. He thinks of Ginny then, her screams, and his stomach churns with heat.

He sits alone with the boat as his only anchor. It rocks and rolls and brings him peace. He watches the storm until he is swallowed, and wakes before the boat is ripped to pieces. He carries out the rest of his day as any normal wizard would, the dream as his siren.

Some days, he stands up from the boat. He does not await the storm. He looks to the ocean, disregards the logic of his mind, and he jumps. The water embraces him like an old friend. He drowns, drowns, and drowns...but he does not wake. He dies multiple times over, yet the cold carries him on.

It's not healthy, the children chastise even as they force him awake. He ignores the worry in their voice, their sharp glances, the clothes that cling to the sweat on his back. Focuses on the tremor of his bones, the way his heart beats hard and fast, the lump that lies within his throat, and wonders, wonders...

_Is Death finally coming?_

.

The thing with becoming immortal, Harry figures out, is not that you lose love. Seventy years after that fateful day, and still Ginny remains a wonder within his heart. He's surrounded by family and friends, those that gives him hugs and kisses and calls him _granddaddy _and snuggles into his lap like he's the best there is. In their own ways, they give him life. In return, Harry gives them his heart over and over again.

Rather, the objectionable thing about being immortal is the discovery of _repetition_. He finds that the phrase 'history tends to repeat itself' stands true to its meaning even decades after the war. From the mundane everyday life to the superficial dealings with higher ups, Harry realizes that things grow old, real fast. Ron, bless his heart, used to say "mate, if I were you and immortal, I will do everything, and I do mean _everything_, at least once" and wiggled his eyebrows in a manner that was in no way suggestive.

Harry follows Ron's words like it's the Code. He went from a hot-headed Auror to a respectful Healer to being a halfway decent Malfoy that dabbles in politics and dances the game of bitch-slapping people with words. Society kinds of leave him alone to do whatever, since he saved the world more than once. But the problem with Harry Potter, as people tend to discover, is that trouble finds him no matter what.

Like being kidnapped in broad daylight by the goddamn _police_. Needless to say, ever since the day the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy became the Statute of Wizard and Muggle Relations, Harry finds himself in trouble with the non-magical side of the law more than he could count. Something about seeing a century-year-old wizard just quirks them the wrong way, Harry supposes.

"Sir?"

It's not as if he intentionally try to break the 'rules'. In fact, Harry goes out of his way to avoid the muggle world. But these days, with muggles and wizards so intertwined, one can't even go to Diagon Alley without seeing some muggles gawking at everything in sight. Really, Harry understands. He was like that at eleven years old, after all.

He just can't handle looking at their smiling faces, when all he hears, sleeping or not, is of her screams. He gets it. Not all wizards are alike. And not all muggles are alike, either. He just can't accept it. He does not think he ever will.

"Sir!"

So perhaps Harry likes to do little charms. If these charms happen to turn some people hair pink or their skin to turns green with dots...well, it's just harmless teasing. They wanted to see magic first hand anyways. The problem afterwards is that these muggles just don't understand the fun side of magic, and when they call the Statute, both police and aurors come running.

This time, Denise Goode gets to him first. She's a good kid, a squib with a passion for guns and knives. She's also the only one Harry can tolerate within this whole building. It's through a sense of familiarity that she always seem to know when he does something wrong.

"Mr. Potter!" she screams, finally having enough of his silence.

Everybody turns to look, their eyes disapproving. She glares at them all until they glance away. The moment she looks back at him, Harry almost shrink in size. Harry likes to think she would have been a Gryffindor if Hogwarts is still standing today.

"Do you know how many complaints I get in a day? Half of them are about you! The Statue tells me to leave you alone one day, and the next tells me to send you to prison. I swear they need to get their things together - it's like having two evil bosses!"

"It's no surprise, Denise." Harry finally says. "It's ruled by two different Ministers, after all. One is a wizard with a hero complex. The other is a muggle-born who loves magic like life itself. You can just see the struggles."

She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, that's a mystery of its own. I've never seen this Minister Fitzroy. From what I've heard, he looks mighty handsome. Is he even real?"

"As real as magic can get."

She stands up from surprise. "You've seen him then?"

"Yes," Harry replies. "He doesn't like me very much. To be perfectly honest, I don't like him very much either."

"No wonder he keeps insisting on sending you to jail, Mr. Potter! The things he writes about you!"

Harry laughs. "Yes, well, you can't live life without having some enemies. Besides, the quirk of being one hundred and two years old, my dear, is that nobody dares to touch you. I go to prison, I get the paradise life."

"You're a very strange man, Mr. Potter." She sits down and takes an envelope out from within her desk. "Even stranger than my father."

"Knowing who he is, I will take that as a compliment."

She stares at him with her blue eyes, no longer smiling. Suddenly, the happy mood vanish. She hands him the letter. "From me, yes. From others, no, it's not a compliment, sir."

Harry takes it from her. In his hand, it feels somehow heavy, even with the knowledge that it's only a slip of paper. "What is this?"

"Please open it."

He do as she says. He's right, it's a simple piece of paper. The words, upon it, however, are of accusations and just plain _wrong_. He folds it up calmly and put it on the table.

"What is this?" He repeats his question.

"A recommendation from Minister Wright." She answers, voice tense. "For your psychiatrist care under Dr. Rey. Due to recent events, he believes that you are in need of help, sir. He understands that the trauma caused from the death of your wife is very nerve wracking, but that is no excuse for your reckless behaviors, which may become dangerous to you and those around you. And after talking to Dr. Rey, he finds that-"

"I know what I read, Denise." He interrupts. He stands up, abruptly very angry. "They thinks I am … mentally unstable?"

"No. You just need help moving on, Mr. Potter."

"Moving on? Moving on?! They are taking the children away from me!"

He sees the pity in her eyes. Stops. Looks down at himself. Sees that his hands are in a tight fist. Relax, Harry. Calm. Think clearly, now. Don't let her see you like this.

"I understand how you feel. Heck, I can't even imagine what the children will say. But think of this as a new experience! You've never dabbled in psychology before, right? Think of this as a stepping stone. Show them you're sane and walk out."

"The problem is not that I am sane or not..." He says. "But how this letter come to be."

"What?"

He looks at her.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Let the Aurors come in, Denise. I know they are waiting outside the building." He sits down. Smiling, he asks a young boy with glasses for a cup of tea. The boy nods, and scuttles off into the common area. "I would like to have a talk with this Minister Wright."

Denise signals one of her boys to go outside. She gives out a big sigh, and gives Harry an utterly annoyed look. "I hope to God that you know what you're doing, Mr. Potter."

"Dear Denise," he grins. "Don't you know me at all? I always have a plan."

She gives him an untrusting look. "The last time you said that there was almost a Civil War."

"When you're as old as me, you don't just stand there and endure the unfairness of the world."

"Over magic education?" She challenges and looks into his eyes. He stares back, unwavering.

"No." He replies. "Not over education, but over human rights."

Denise looks away. "You know, I was very young back then, only ten. When my mother learned that I was a squib, she was overjoyed. I didn't understand then, why, until I go to school and saw for myself. Children can be very mean, especially under the guidance of their parents. They can get very jealous too. You know, I was chosen for the Institute."

"Denise, I never knew..."

"Of course not, you weren't there. Not exactly. But the thing is, the Institute was the first and last try, and I saw first hand the cruelty of both sides. Muggles against wizards, wasn't that the thing for everyone? They put all these children together, hoping for the best. Until a kid broke his arm. The next day someone got put in the hospital, I think? Then someone drowned. And it repeats and repeats. I just, just didn't really understanding what's truly happening. Until two years later, when we all got separated because you finally spoke up."

Harry clenches his fists. "I wasn't fast enough."

"No, you weren't. I was spared because I was a squib. They pitied me because I got no magic, and l was also left alone because I got no magic. I didn't leave that Institute whole, even if I was the least damaged. But you were my hero. And to all the children of that Institute as well as their parents."

"What are you trying to say?"

"What I am saying is that some people forget, and some people don't. Society thinks you're an old man, take you for a fool. Well, Mr. Potter, there are a thousand men and woman standing right behind you, even if you don't see it. You have an army ready and willing."

"You speak as if I'm getting prepare for my next fight against the next Dark Lord."

"Sometimes I forget just who you are," she smiles, eyes bright, and gives his hand a tight squeeze. "That you've defeated two Dark Lords, rebelled against those with too much power but also too wrong, prevented the death of how many lives, and God knows what else you have also done. Yet here you are, my great grandfather."

He looks at her, thinks of Dumbledore, and imagines the twinkle within his own eyes. The glamor seeps into his skin, a constant itch that has became a normalcy. He thinks of removing it, showing the world what he truly is...he thinks, he thinks...

Instead, he can only says, "I too, always forgets."

.

They finally come in just as Harry takes his first sip. To Harry's delights, it's Jacob Yap that leads them in. That deceitful little bastard. Harry loves to loathe him. Unlike other people, Yap gives no care for Harry's grey hair and wrinkled skin. They could banter like little children all day and _then _punch each other in the face. Harry supposes he should worry about this young man's future, but he's having too much fun with this wonderful being who possess only one weakness.

Yet while his appearance usually bring Harry a somewhat sadistic joy, today Harry's in no mood.

"Yap," he says. "Bring me to your master."

The wizard looks at Denise and raises his eyebrow. She shrugs helplessly and mouths _good luck_. Yap just rolls his eyes and mutters _dear lord_.

"Harry Potter, you're under arrest for-"

"Yes, Yap. yappy- yap. Yap."

"Under article-"

"Yap. Yippity Yap."

"Goddamn it Potter! Just come with me now!"

Harry winks at his granddaughter, who scoffs.

"That's all I wanted to hear, Yap."

.

The moment he arrives at the Ministry, he uses the excuse of going to the bathroom. Yap gives him a look of pure distrust until his workmate finally gives him the look that say _man it's just an old man let him go do the do. _Harry got to give it to Yap, the wizard has good instincts. Once in, he drops his glamor and walks out. Everyone looks at him with wide eyes. Even Yap stutters, his eyes impossibly huge.

"Good morning, M-"

"Mr. Yap. Where's Minister Wright?"

"Inside room D321, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Yap," Harry says, interrupting the wizard, who merely nods weakly. Yes, still Yap's number one weakness. Just for the fun of it though, he continues, "I just saw Mr. Potter diving out of the window. Old people these days, huh?"

Yap pales a few shades lighter, and immediately runs into the bathroom.

Well, that never get old.

He continues on with his quest to look for the Minister. Wizards and Muggles part way for him like the red sea and he's Moses. He sees Lovegood walking towards him from the corner of his vision, and immediately walks faster. Merlin, Luna Lovegood was a strange, strange woman. Her great grandson is even stranger. Harry entices the idea of having a second glamor, but thinks that's too much work. Besides, it really does boost Harry's self-esteem a little bit that everyone wants a piece of him, for whatever the reasons. Harry thinks of his teenage days and how out of his skin he always felt. How Hermione hit him in the head for liking the attention so much.

He crosses the hallway and barges through the door. "Walton Wright! What the bloody hell is going on? I just received-"

"Ah, come in, my _friend_, and have a seat." The bloody bastard gestures toward an empty chair, right next to the one currently filled by a man with long black hair tied over his shoulder. Harry cannot see his face, only his back, but something about the way this man holds himself makes Harry tense with anticipation. "This is Dr. Eastmund Rey, Mr. Potter's psychiatrist."

This Dr. Rey turns around, and his face...Harry swears he has seen it before. In the war? No. Harry would never forget those blue eyes. They feel exceptionally intrusive. But Rey is a mere muggle.

"Hello, Minister Fitzroy," the man says, his voice is very rough, as if unused to speaking. Strange, due to his profession. "I've heard much about you."

"Good things, I hope." Harry says sarcastically as he sits down.

"A man of humor, as I've heard."

Harry looks back at the Minister. "Well, not to be rude, but there's no need for Mr. Potter to have a psychiatrist. That poor man has done enough already, leave him alone."

"It's precisely because of how much Mr. Potter has contributed to the community that we care for his well-being, my friend," Wright says, and gives that smile of his that always make Harry wants to strangle him. "Besides, Dr. Rey here also believes that Mr. Potter showcases some rather disturbing behavior, to say the least."

"What kind of disturbing behavior are we talking about here?"

"Unlawful use of magic, constant distaste for all things non-magical, lack of social friends, and, of course, vandalism of government properties."

Ah. So the Minister's still a little mad about that awful incident where Harry sort of dented his muggle car. It was just a stupid piece of metal anyways. Things just like to come back and bite him in the arse.

"That's hardly disturbing behavior," Harry replies. "That's how every old man acts."

Both men turn to look at him, their eyes saying all.

"Fine." He spits out. "So this Harry Potter is weird. That's hardly enough reason to separate him from his family and friends. Like I said, I think he deserves some free passes considering his good acts and sacrifices."

"We were just talking about that, actually," Rey says. "And came to the conclusion that if Mr. Potter agrees to a one-hour meeting with me once every two days, he can remain with his family."

"Once a week."

"Once every three days."

"Deal, Dr. Rey," Wright interrupts before Harry could say more. "We will see you once again next week to discuss Mr. Potter's progress. Hopefully, it'll be good news."

"Very well, Ministers. Have a good day." The doctor stands up, getting ready to leave.

Harry whips out his arm, catching the man by his elbow. For some strange reason, Harry just can't get rid of the nausea within his guts. There's something about this man that he just can't figure out, especially his strange, blue eyes. "Say, have we met before, Doctor?"

"Many times, Minister Fitzroy," the man smiles. "But only from afar. You always seem to have look pass me."

"My condolences. Next time, say something, yeah?"

"If that's what you want, Minister."

Harry releases him. Rey gives a nod to both Ministers before walking out. Harry stares at his own hand.

He knows Eastmund Rey. The name behind it anyways. In fact, there's a whole folder dedicated to that name alone. A muggle that's too proud for his own goods. Disappeared for a year to only reappear now. Many looks at him for his favor. Adores him for his good looks. Yet he stands on top, looking down with his mighty nose. Harry knows Rey is a man who is used to getting what he wants, but what exactly does he want with Harry Potter, the hopeless old man? And why does he looks so familiar?

He looks to Wright, who only stares back grimly. "You understand now, Harry?"

Harry nods. "Yes, my friend, I'm afraid I do."

"Merritt Kemp, the Auror I sent to investigate, disappeared two days after without a single word. Jasper Woodward, the Unspeakable who went undercover, came back without half of his memories. And yet we have no proofs. The mystery behind Eastmund Rey only lengthened. I almost use desperate measures. Imagine my surprise when he comes to my office by his free will. His request? You."

"Me."

"Yes, Harry Potter," Wright laces his fingers together, suddenly looking very tired. "At first I refused, knowing how much you hated the idea of being tear apart under another's watching eyes. Especially by a _muggle_. You can't even tolerate me half of the time, and I am your boyfriend. God, such a ridiculous term, can't we just get marry and I call you husband, love?"

Harry smiles in amusement. "Continues on, Walton."

"He then insisted on wanting to figure out the man behind the legend. Harry Potter was his hero growing up, apparently. He speaks of you with fondness, as if he _knows _you. It was strange. His ways with words. Anyways, he used every single card he had, pointing out all the wrongs and rights. He was bloody convincing, and then a thought came to me..."

"If he's so very fond of me, perhaps I have a chance?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I had thought."

"Walton Wright, this is why we're not husbands," Harry says and kisses him on the lips. "Because you're an idiot. And also because we are partners, and we know each other too well. I know, with a hundred percent certainty, that if we are married, you would never have accept. Bound by conscience, you would have said no. Right now, we are way too important men, there is no room for compassion. Do not worry. I am no damsel in distress. I do not require my lover's helping hands."

Wright embraces him to his chest and whispers, "Only one more year, my love."

Harry laughs. "And then I will marry you until the day you die. In life and death, Mr. Wright. For now, I will play Rey's games, and I will bring you his lies. It's time to go undercover."

.

That night, Harry dreams a different sort of dream.

In his dream, Harry sees three things: the sky, the ocean, and the boat.

This time, however, there's no storm, only the calmness of the ocean. The sea is blue and bright, reflecting the sky. The boat, as always, rocks and brings him peace. Harry thinks that this is a very strange dream, but he welcomes it for what it is. Perhaps things are getting better. Harry smiles at the thought.

"Hello, my dear master." The voice says. And breaks the tranquility of his life.

Harry dares not turn around. His body knows what his mind cannot, and is too afraid to move. Decades, he waits for this day. At this moment, he gives his back.

"Why now?" He braves enough to say. "After all these years?"

"Why not?" Death replies.

Harry bites his lips. Always, Death plays riddles.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Death does not answer.

Harry turns and sees the being for what it is. Death, if that's what Death truly looks like, is a tall entity. He hovers over Harry like a kindred spirit. His impossibly long hair reaches his feet and is as black as the night. Harry looks into his face, and where his eyes should be, Harry sees only the might of the abyss.

Death reaches out and touches his face. His touch is so very gentle. His skin so very cold. Harry fears what's happening.

"What is it that you want from me?" he says, voice soft.

Death's thin lips turn into a smile. It's a smile of things to come.

"That is the beauty of it, my dear master," Death says and let go. Harry wakes up in sweat and screams. He sees Walton, his mouth moving, but he cannot comprehend the words that are being said. All he hears is the echo inside his head. The lingering heat upon his face. Remembers Death's mocking voice.

"You have an eternity to figure it out."

\- End of Chapter One -

* * *

You may see some humor. Endure with me.

Next Chapter: For Every Man and Woman - Harry comes to the realization that perhaps he has bitten more than he can chew. Death teaches his master a lesson in vengeance.


	2. Chapter 2: For Every Man and Woman

Thanks to all the lovely reviews, I wrote the whole chapter in a day. Wow.

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Chapter 2: For Every Man and Woman

* * *

"_Ginny, I want to tell you something."_

_She pauses in her reading of the book and gives him her deepest glare. Harry only nod in response. With a sigh, she places the book aside. "Well, what have you got for me now that you're sitting at St. Mungo's? After you almost die?"_

_Ignoring the ache in his arms, he takes her hands in his. He's so very afraid. What would she say to the truth? Harry doesn't know. He thinks of rejection, disappointment, and fear. "What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"_

"_Well," she replies. "Only from childhood fairy-tales. The collector of all Hallows become the Master of Death, isn't it? Would that make you Death's master then, Harry? Considering-"_

"_Ginny," he interrupts. "That's the thing. I don't think I can die."_

.

There was a road that split in two. One was a straight and smooth path, but it's endless in sight and split into many more. The other was filled with needles, but the destination is clear in mind. Harry, at the age of twenty-five, had closed his eyes and walked the path of lies.

Years later, his decision came back and destroyed the very things that he had build. When Harry walked that path, he created monsters. These monsters came in the middle of the night, used magic where they should not, and they fought with fire. That fire took three lives.

Harry never make the same mistake again.

Death may think he's a fool, a pawn for his amusement. He weaves the dreams and watch as Harry struggle. Sees with his own eyes how fragmented Harry has become. How many times has he yelled to the ocean, confessed to a God that is not there? Death had listened to all of it.

He bites back the bitter rage that Death has also invaded his only sanctum. Remembers Death's cold hand upon his face.

Harry realizes it's a both a promise and a threat. Death, in that gesture alone, showed Harry that with only a touch, can take his life away. He could die inside his own dream, never to wake up. Yet why does Death let Harry live? Why does a being so great, so powerful, let a mortal attain the title of Death's Master? Is it a gift or is it a curse?

It's no matter of Death's intents. Harry refuses to stand idle and be Death's toy.

"She's here," Walton says and gives Harry a frown. "I wish you would talk to me like you would her, but I understand that you have your reasons."

Harry refuses to respond. Walton may know half of what he is, but he's not ready for the whole truth. For now, it's best that Walton remains unknowing. Besides, this is Harry's problem, and bringing someone who barely knows what the Hallows, or what Death truly stands for, into Harry's struggles would only condemn them a life of misery.

Walton merely sighs at his silence. He gives Harry a kiss on his forehead before standing up. With one last lingering look, he walks outside the bedroom.

"Thank you for coming, Madame." Harry hears Walton say. His voice is filled with respect and admiration. "Harry's waiting inside."

"Always, Minister Wright. How is he?"

"He woke up screaming two days ago, and when his throat became too sore for screams, he became like that. I tried everything that you told me to, but he's not responding. I wish I could do more, but…"

"Do not be too harsh on yourself, Minister." She says. "When he's in that state, he can be very stubborn. Even his wife, when she was alive, had difficulty breaking him out."

"I love him like life itself, yet he blocks me out with his secrets. I see his pain and it becomes my pain. When I give chase, however, he hides beneath his lies."

"Give him time, and one day, perhaps, he'll tell you all."

"Your wisdom is always appreciated, Madame. I just fear that one day it'll be too late."

"I've known him since he was a child. That broken but brave little boy. He loves you, Minister, but past scars make him doubt. Now, let me have a talk with him."

"Of course, please. I'll leave you two alone."

The door opens and she comes in. At the age of one hundred and two, Harry still thinks she is as beautiful as ever. Her gray hair has replaced her bushy brown, and the wrinkle upon her face only makes her look sterner. This is the woman that likes to beat him up with a cane on a daily basis if she got the choice.

"Hi," he whispers. "Hermione."

"Don't _hi _me," she says and sits down at the end of the bed. "You almost gave the Minister a heart attack and gave _me _a heart attack when the owl came yowling. Merlin dear God, Harry, what are you going to do when I die?"

He gives a bitter face. "Don't say that. The ginseng I give you every single month should guarantee another century. It better. I climb Mt. Fuji every single month for it and the Spirit guarding the mountain isn't exactly nice."

"We'd never know, won't we? I make tea out of it and let the guests drink to their content. Who knows where the ginseng now lay within which stomach."

"You what?"

"I'm just saying, Harry," she takes his hand and smiles. "That two years ago, when we decided that you needed an alias, a false persona for when Harry Potter has to die, you told me, in specific terms, that you will try to leave the past behind. You met the Minister, and I could tell at that time that he was the man for you. The only problem is _you_. Harry, he's not Ginny, but he's Walton, and he can be much more if you let him in."

"I love him, Hermione, and he'll be in so much pain when he knows the things I've done."

"If he already loves you as you are now, knowing he'll die and you'll not, why do you think he'll be afraid of your past? Legends do not speak all, Harry, but Walton is a smart man, and he can read between the lines."

"No," Harry closes his eyes. "He cannot read this for what it is."

Harry can feel her eyes. Knows that she understands what this is truly about. She's his rock, his wisdom, the only one who still remains. She was there at his weakest. She knows what he fears most.

"Tell me Harry," she says. "What happened two days ago?"

"I dreamt," he answers, voice tight. "I dreamt and I saw Death. He touched me with his hand and it was as cold as ice. Yet when he removed his hand from my face, Hermione, it felt like I was being burnt alive."

"No." She whispers.

"Yes," Harry opens his eyes and looks into hers. In her eyes, he can see his own reflection and it's a wretched thing. His face is damned, a thing swallowed with fury. "He was mocking me. Mocking her. Mocking _them._"

"Did," she pauses, clearly trying to regain her composure. She blinks once, twice, swallows, tightens her hand upon his, and continues, "Did anything happened to trigger this change? You've told me about your dreams before, Harry, but never with Death."

He gives her hand a squeeze. "Absolutely nothing that I can think of. I played the hopeless old man, dancing the streets and getting into trouble. I met Denise and her little boy. She refuses to say the kid is hers but I can just see the Potter's blood. I saw Yap. Talked with Walton, and…"

"Harry? What? What is it?"

Suddenly overcome with uneasiness, he let go of her hands. "And I met a man by the name of Eastmund Rey."

"Eastmund Rey?" She furrows her eyebrows. "The psychiatrist?"

He looks at her in surprise. "You know of him?"

"Who doesn't? Harry, he's the most popular author about the First and Second War. As you know, after the Purge, all writings and pictures about those wars were removed and destroyed. Yet I was pleasantly surprised at the accuracy of his books. In fact, he wrote several books about _you_."

"Me?"

"Yes, it was actually very recent. From what I've gathered, he was a very uptight young man until he disappeared. When he finally reappeared in public, he did a one hundred and eighty degrees change. Everybody is very fond of him now. Didn't you request his folder to be made and be sent to the Ministry? It took me five days to organize all the details..."

Harry blushes in embarrassment. Hermione notices right away. "You didn't read it, did you?"

"I did! Skimmed it, that is. Thought he sounded like a bloody Malfoy. Stopped after that."

"Harry," Hermione says in astonishment. "How did you ever become the Minister? Please don't answer that. Although, curiouser and curiouser, what does Dr. Rey have anything to do with your dreams?"

"I don't know, Hermione, but I intend to figure it out."

"And how will you do that?"

"How?" He smirks. "By playing Rey's games, that's how. He wants to know the man behind the legend? I'll let him. As he uses me, I'll uses him in return. Two can play the game of chess."

Hermione only shakes her head. "Be careful. If this man truly has a connection with Death, then he's more dangerous than we can possibly imagine. Do not attempt to fool him only to be the one who is fooled."

.

Harry knocks once and counts to three. Rey opens the door and gives him a small smile. Harry ignores his raised hand and walks inside. The man merely chuckles and closes the door. Really, Harry would like to see how far this man's patience can runs before it snap. And when it does, Harry will be the one doing the interrogation.

For now, Harry plays the senile old man. He looks around and feigns boredom.

True to Hermione's report, Rey is a man not lacking in money. His office looks moderate and not exactly exaggerated, but Harry knows that piece of couch probably costs a small fortune. It may look organized, but everything is where the psychiatrist wants it to be. That fountain pen? Easy access by hand. Easy penetration to the carotid arteries.

There's no doubt about it, it's a cave of a mad scientist. This is where Rey create his masterpieces, where he's at home and most comfortable.

Or perhaps all this speculations are wrong, and Harry is just paranoid.

"Relax, Mr. Potter," Rey gestures toward the couch. "I don't bite at all."

Harry scoffs and sits down. "Funny you should say that. You know how many men and women said that to me and try to kill me some point later? Hundreds!"

"From me, you can trust that I'll give you no harm."

"I don't trust you at all."

"And I understand." Rey smiles. Harry gets the feeling that he's being laughed at. "Hopefully, these sessions will change your mind."

Harry looks into those eyes and thinks of the ocean. There's a world inside there that he's desperate to get, but Harry is no mindless intruder. Harry is not moraless. He's not...

"Why did you ask Minister Wright to become my psychiatrist?" Harry blurts out.

"Because you interest me," Rey sits down. "I grew up listen to your tales. The mighty boy-who-lived, savior of wizarding britain, the saint, the victor, the fool, the mad, the next Dark Lord."

Harry burst out laughing. "They are still spitting out those stories? Looks at me! I'm this old and they still think I'm planning on taking over the world."

"Sometimes, Mr. Potter, appearance can be deceptive."

Harry stops laughing at that. It feels like he just lost a battle of wits. Rey only picks up his pen and says, "Now, shall we begin?"

Like hell.

"Eastmund. Can I call you Eastmund?" Before Rey could answer, Harry continues on, "I'll call you Eastmund. You see, Eastmund, I attend these sessions not because of free will, but because _you_, and the Ministers, and those that back them up, threatens to take my family away. I'm not here for your pleasure or for you to take me apart. As long as I am here, I'm not going to make your life easy. You won't get anything from me."

"But you already gave me so much, Mr. Potter," Rey replies and start writing. "From the moment you walked through that door, you showed me a man who hate pleasantries, a man with trust issues, a man with low self-esteem, and that you're here not because you're forced, but because you wants something from me."

"I want nothing from you. And I don't have trust issues, or low self-esteem."

"Not even the Queen herself, or Minister Wright, can make a man like you do something that you do not want to do." Rey continues writing, never once looking up. "There are twenty-one articles written by Minister Fitzroy himself dedicating to the Liberating Acts. You could have bring this to court and I would have been charge of bargaining and blackmail as well as unpracticed conducts."

Well crap, Hermione did warn him. Time to try a different approach, Harry. "Fine," he says. "I do want something from you."

"And that would be?"

"Your money." Harry keeps his face blank. Rey looks at him like Harry sprouts a different head. After a moment of silence, the doctor closes his eyes and sighs deeply. When he reopens his eyes, there's a sort of joy within those depths. Rey smiles.

What a strange man.

"It would seem that today you'll be the one asking questions, Mr. Potter," Rey sets his pen down. "That's alright. For you to trust me I'll have to trust you first. Ask me as many questions as you want. You have until the end of our session."

Harry raises his eyebrow. Well, if Rey wants to play it that way. "Were you there? Fighting? For the Third War?"

"Yes. I fought under you, actually. That's how I knew the tales were right. You were brilliant."

So Harry is right. Rey did looks familiar because they've seen each other within the war. That, however, does not explain the uneasiness that lies within his guts. His instincts are telling him something that he cannot understand.

"You're lucky then," Harry says. "Not many survived, those that joined."

"You're right." Rey replies, his voice suddenly very quiet. "I was a very lucky man."

Harry looks at the doctor's hands. His fingers are quivering. Rey notices where Harry is gazing at, and put his hand upon his lap, hiding his fingers from view. Harry glances up. Rey's eyes are blazing, daring Harry to say something.

A muggle that's too proud for his own good. That was Harry's first impression, long even before he met Eastmund Rey. But perhaps there's something more. Perhaps he's just human, too. Broken. Alone and in pain. Looking for comrades.

"I lost my best mate to that war," Harry confesses. "He was 85. He took no part in it, but because he was my friend, they invaded his house and tortured him. When I got there, it was too late."

There is a moment of silence where no one is willing to break the peace. Finally, Rey says, "Humans can be particularly cruel."

"Yes," Harry answers. "They may very well be monsters."

.

They had spent the rest of the session with useless questions and pointless answers. When the time was up, Harry had stood up and apparated without a word. The doctor had seem too much already, and Harry had felt too open. He walked around London aimlessly for two hours straight. By the time he got back, Walton was already there waiting.

"How did it go?"

"He's a manipulative bastard with an ego the size of the sun." Harry pronounces. "He used his vulnerability to make me feel sorry for him, and every time I looked away, he would do something carelessly, like writing in that stupid notebook of his, to make me focus on him again. I swear nobody has ever annoyed me so much."

"Well," his lover says. "At least you still got your memories."

Harry looks at him. "Really? That all you got to say?"

"He's a bloody bastard."

"That's right. That's right." Harry mutters. "You're exactly right!"

Walton gives him a cup of tea, and insists he drink it, "For your throat, Harry."

Harry drinks it in one gulp and snuggles into his lover. He feels Walton smiles from above his head. Rocks him back and forth. Like the boat, Harry thinks.

"Would you like to go to sleep now?" he whispers. "You haven't sleep for three days, Harry. I worry for you. You won't tell me what wrong. Normally I would not push for answers, but this is not healthy. You're going to crash one day. What if it is during a mission? Worse, what if I am not there?"

Harry tenses, and immediately knows. "You put something in the tea."

"Yes," Walton does not denies. "This cannot go on, Harry. You can scream and yell at me all you want when you wake up. But I want you to know that I'll be right here, right besides you, when you fall asleep. Whatever you see in your dreams, whatever monster that lurks inside your head, knows that I am here, and I'll not let it hurt you."

Walton doesn't understand at all. He doesn't understand that if Harry fall asleep, if Harry dream, Harry may not wake up at all. And that's a very scary thought. Did Harry wants to die? Yes. He wants it so much it hurt, but more than that want, more than everything Harry has ever desired, is to see his great grandchildren grows old, sees Walton's smile, his laugh. Hermione, Merlin, Hermione, what will happens to her when he's gone? What of Denise? What of Walton? Harry just can't leave them like this.

Hermione was right. Bloody hell she's always right. It wasn't good leaving Walton out of it. He would just go do stupid things all for the name of love. Why does Harry always seem to fall in love with hopeless romantic fools who would do anything for him? Even through questionable means?

"Walton," Harry says, already feeling the drowsiness seeping in. "You're so stupid."

"You can say all you want later. For now, let me tell you a story, Harry."

"It better be a bloody good one or I'll strangle you when I wake up."

Walton kisses his forehead.

"There was a little kid once," he begins. "A little kid with two loving parents, who hated magic so very, very much. The kid grew up under two loving hands, and didn't understand that ripping books that speak was wrong, that you don't throw rocks at other children for being different, that you don't just yell _Satan's spawn _like it's of no importance. He grew up thinking that he knows best when he knows absolutely nothing at all. Until the owl came calling. Did you know? Fate is a twisted thing. The owl revealed what everyone feared most. That boy is a wizard. He has got magic, and Hogwarts awaits him…"

Harry falls asleep to his lover's tale. He thinks Walton is crying.

.

This time, Death is already there, waiting. He smiles when he sees Harry.

"Hello, master," Death says, and tilts his head. "You're crying."

"Yes, I'm just so happy to see you," Harry replies, wiping his tears away. "So what now? You're going to kill me? Take my soul and eat it? Well, just so you know, I'll be fighting every step of the way. I've got a lover to comfort when I wake up."

"The taste of albatross," Death says. "I remember."

"What?"

Death merely continues on, "His parents screamed and denied. Their souls were battered with regret. I had wondered why."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Death remains quiet. He looks almost...sad, just standing there. A black monstrosity that doesn't know what to do with its body.

"I am going to ask you again, and no half-ass answers," Harry sits down. "Why are you here now, after all these decades? I threw away the Deathly Hallows when I was seventeen. I broke the Elder Wand. I burned the Cloak. I smashed the Stone. Yet it always come back, whole and good as new. I killed many people, and got killed many times in return. But like the Hallows, I come back, whole. Every time, you never speak, you never appear."

Death opens his palm, and on it is the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

Harry yells out _Merlin _and screams, "I don't understand!"

"The Tale of the Three Brothers is truer that you think," Death says and closes his palm. "The Stone stands for my immortality. The Cloak for my invisibility. The Wand for my power to take away a life. I am the Hallows. As you've gathered all that I am, you became my master. The conqueror of Death. And until the day you die, you will remain so."

"How can I die when you refuse to let me die?"

"Death cannot take the life of its Master," Death answers. "The Master must take his own."

Suddenly, Harry understands. All these years and the answer was just around the corner. How many times had Harry close his eyes, imagine a simple knife, a simple spell, to end it all? Yet there was always something to hold him back. Ginny. His children. Ron. Hermione. And now there is Walton.

Harry closes his eyes, suddenly very tired. "You've always been watching."

"Yes."

"Why say something now?"

"There's a storm coming, my dear master," Death gestures toward the sky. "I cannot prevent it. You cannot prevent it. It's inevitable."

Harry opens his eyes in surprise. "What…"

"It will destroy all that you care about. Eat you alive and feast upon your agony. You will be in pain. You will break. And that, is simply unacceptable."

Death stalks toward him. The sky roars as Death clutches his shoulders. Death peers at him and all Harry sees is darkness coming.

"Before that, I'll make you strong," Death hisses. "And when it come, you will stand victorious. It'll be nothing compare to your might. You'll be a God."

"Thanks," Harry manages to say. His mouth is suddenly very dry. "But no thanks."

Death just looks at him for a while before cradling Harry's face with his long, thin fingers. He smiles that wicked smile of his. "My dear, dear master, you have got no choice," it says. "Your first lesson already begins."

Harry blinks. Instantaneously, at that moment, Death disappears and is replaced by a woman that make his blood runs cold with rage.

Bellatrix Lestrange giggles. Her nails dig into his skin, drawing blood. "Boo hoo, little Harry Potter, all these years and you're still just a pathetic little boy!"

"You!" Harry jumps at her and catches at her throat. She does not resist and let Harry do as he please.

Bellatrix laughs, a vile sound. "Is this all you got, Potter? Sirius Black had more spite!"

Harry tightens his fingers. Listens until she cannot speak no more. She chokes, and finally try to scratch at his hand. He looks into her eyes. Sees all the crimes that she has done. The horrors of this woman's mind. Harry commits them all to his memory.

Sees his godfather from her depraved eyes. How he had looked at Harry then.

Harry lets go.

"Stop this," Harry chokes out. "Death, stop this. I cannot do as you please."

"You can and you will," Bellatrix but not Bellatrix says. Harry blinks and Death had change again. In Bellatrix's place, there lies a muggle. A muggle Harry knows too well.

Harry stills.

"What?" The man whimpers. "Where am I?"

The man peers at him from the ground. His face turns to ash with recognition. "Potter? Harry Potter?"

"Rudolph Iggor," Harry whispers. "You…"

Iggor screams, "No! No! Don't come near me! I swear, I swear I had nothing to do with it! They forced me to!"

"You are a liar!" Harry yells. "I watched from the trials. I saw everything! You were the ones with the runes. You trapped them inside the house like cattle to be slaughter. You grinned as you lighted the fire. And you laughed as they were burned alive. You killed them!"

Harry walks towards him. Punch him in the face. Again. Again. And Again.

"Yes!" Iggor finally admits. Harry pauses. "I did it! They deserved it. That bitch and those little devils. They were an abomination. Satan's spawns! You too, Potter! Especially you! You were in that fire, yet you came out alive! You sold your soul to the devil. The devil's witchcraft!"

"Yes," Harry says. "It's exactly as you say, Rudolph, and I'll show you just how right you are."

Harry strikes him across the face. Smash him into a bloody pulp until his face's no longer recognizable. Yet it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He hits until he can't anymore. His arms tired. His face wet with tears.

He blinks.

"Well done, my master," Death says from beneath him. "That was magnificent."

Harry scuttles back as if Death is fire itself.

"What's the whole point of this?"

Death stands up and spreads his arms. All of the sudden, the ocean is no longer calm and quiet. It's filled with screams. Harry looks over and sees the faces of many men and women. Thousands and thousands. Harry knows them all.

"You see, master, I am no neglectful servant," Death sounds … proud. "For every man and woman that dared to harm, I preserved. They fell under Death's spells, and their souls became mine. To torture, as I abhor. To play with, as I please. And now, they are yours."

Harry is suddenly very afraid. This is beyond his comprehension. "I can't...You're making me into something I cannot be."

"Endless possibilities await you," Death smiles. "For now, we will continue with your lesson, my dearest master. A lesson in vengeance, as the mortals would say."

Harry blinks. The nightmare goes on.

\- End of Chapter 2 -

I do not play with Death's character, as you may have realized.

Next chapter: Welcome to Wonderland - Harry spirals further down the rabbit's hole. And come face to face with the one being he hopes to never see again.


	3. Chapter 3: Welcome to Wonderland

What we all have been waiting for, I'm sure. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 3: Welcome to Wonderland

* * *

"_Happy birthday, mate!"_

"_Ron," he says. "It's bloody one o'clock at night."_

"_I know the party is already over, but I just can't leave you hanging."_

_Harry looks at him. There are dark shadows under his eyes. His hair is more brown than red. His shoulders are slouched and he looks as if he'll faint walking. While Harry have graduated from the Auror program months ago, Ron still remains and he's struggling to get through. Harry worries for him._

"_Come on. There's some leftover cake."_

_Ron merely shakes his head. "Can't, mate. I've got to go home and take a big nap. There is training in about three hours, I can't miss it. I just wanted to come and give you this."_

_Wordlessly, Harry takes the gift from him. _

"_I walked around Diagon Alley a few rounds but just couldn't figure out what to get. Then I remembered what 'Mione said about how the best gift is the most unexpected one. Then I thought about your condition, and uh, yeah, you know," Ron pauses. "Well, mate, it still a long way to go before you'll need to use this...but who knows, right?"_

_The book is a heavy thing in his hand. _A Wizard's Guide to Glamours, _Harry reads._

"_Ron, it's the absolute best," Harry beams. "Thank you."_

_._

Harry once had a beautiful wife and three lovely children. He lost two of them to a fire fueled by hatred. That left a son and a daughter. Albus Severus and Lily Luna Potter were their names and they grew up as different as day and night.

The son grew up and followed in his father's footsteps. Dedicated and stubborn, he became the best Auror there was and made a family for himself. He had a daughter who hair was a flaming red. Bemused, he named her after his mother and his ever beloved aunt (Ginevra Hermione Potter and she's a legend of her own).

He died decades later amidst the turmoil of wizard-muggle politics at the age of fifty-two. Smiled as he kissed his granddaughter's hand. Laughed as he told her he led good and happy life. Young Denise was only eight years old and she was there when Harry was not.

The daughter...grew up angry and bitter. She lashed at everyone and refused to listen. She never smiled nor did she ever laugh. She spoke, at first, quiet and slow so that all would have to strain their ears to listen. And when she did, her words were devised to cause harm. Harry took it all in.

Ultimately, one day, she packed up and left without a single word. Harry watched her go. Knew from her determined eyes the crimes she'll soon commit. And yet he did not stop her. Understood that she would come back and present him her misguided sins.

She came back days later, and true to Harry's mind, her hands were stained with blood. The blood of murderers and liars. Revenge upon her mother's name. She had stood proud and smiled for the first time in years.

Harry had washed her hands clean. Every single detail he wiped, erased all the evidence he found. No one had the mind to doubt Lily Potter. To the public, she was as pure as the flower behind her name. Only then, when he knew that she's safe, did he finally managed to ask the question why.

She looked at him in the eyes, the very mirror image of her mother, and said in a voice full of utter conviction: _because you refuse to. _

Now, at this crucial moment in his life, he is his daughter's father. There are no glamours to hide the man beneath. He is ruthless in his rage. Vengeful in the blood he draws. Vicious. Evil. No magic behind his force, only a bloody fist ruled by the demons inside his head. He feeds these monster's wrongdoings to his own. Their pain becomes his pain. Their anger to his anger. With every cry, he becomes them.

_because you refuse to_

Harry wants to scream. He is being rewritten for every soul he takes. This nightmare is endless in sight. He is desperate for it to finally end. His daughter's father; vicious and cruel.

Death watches. Harry senses the abyss for what it is.

"No more!" He yells to the ocean. "No more, Death. There is a limit to your cruelty. What do you think will accomplish from this? Make me _you_? A monster? A God? No, I refuse to, you hear me? For every move you will take, I will cross double. Let this storm come! I will face it for what it is and I will show you wrong."

Fenrir Greyback grins at him. His mouth's a bloody mess. "The storm is closer to home than you may think, Potter boy. It has been building up for decades, right from the very beginning."

"What do you mean?"

"Your goody two shoes started it all. You little minx, the damage you caused. Why, I oughta…" the werewolf pauses. He chokes back his saliva and looks as if he's in pain.

Harry blinks and he's replaced by Death. Harry takes a step back in surprise at what he sees. Death's face is no longer emotionless. It's a thing overshadowing with fury. Death shakes in anger. "I do apologize, my dear master. Heed not to the words that were spoken by that filthy mouth."

"Don't heed not me whatever," Harry says, sensing some sort of weakness. "What was that?"

"A momentary lapse in judgment."

Harry stares at him. Death is acting strange. Stranger than normal. His choice of words is becoming more different, more personal, more opinionated. It's almost as if he's gaining personality.

"You know what? I am starting to notice something really weird going on. Lestrange struggled, but she refused to hurt me. The same with Iggor and the rest of them. They said what they needed to say and no more. Then their crimes started to bleed together, their desires clashed, as if they are all becoming…"

Harry looks at Death's hands. His fingers are trembling. "...you."

Death only looks at him with his blank eyes.

"Explain. Now."

"The thing with souls, as I have come to realize," Death forces his hand still. His fury, gone in a flash. "Is that when you try to become them, you take a part of them into yourself. Their memories and their deeds become yours. Even when you return to normal, certain things linger like a phantom's hand. Certain emotions I am rather unaccustomed to."

Harry listens with dread. All those twisted souls and Death had taken them all in. Had let Harry vented his anger, his frustration, his cruelty onto his willing body. And all of that for what? Death said to teach Harry a _lesson_. The lengths this being is prepared to go…

"You said that you could harm and torture as you please with the souls. Yet it wasn't them that I've been beating to...death," Harry says. "It was you. Why?"

"As Death, I am timeless and omnipotent. There are realms under my reign. Bellatrix Lestrange and many others are put there in a dark, faraway world where I can access at my leisure. Yet in this domain ruled by the Lady Völva, I am limited in certain aspects. And if I cannot bring them here, I must be willing to compensate."

"So there are more than one of you," Harry shakes his head. "Why endure all this pain? Certainly there are other ways to do this."

"You would not have hurt me otherwise," Death smiles. "You care, even now."

Harry doesn't know what to say to that.

Death, as always, confuses him in his contradictions. One moment he's smiling and touching Harry like he's made out of glass, the next he's relentless and unmoving. The things Harry have endured, Death knows it all, and still he compels Harry's hands. Forces Harry to kill and destroy a life like it's a fickle thing.

Perhaps for Death it is.

Harry doesn't know if it is Death's fault, but ever since Harry saw the being two nights ago, memories are resurfacing. Memories Harry rather forgets. Even now, he thinks of his daughter. To keep her hands clean, the things he had done.

Was she ever truly happy?

He sits down at one of the end corners of the boat. He looks to the black sky and prays a hopeless prayer. The thunder roars in reply like a God answering a fool's judgment. Harry sighs in defeat. He knows what must be done.

"Let have a civilized conversation, Death," Harry says. "Heart to heart, being to being, truth to truth. Teach me what you cannot through force. With your words, describe me this storm and perhaps we can figure this out together. Because trust me when I say this: you can destroy me, but you will not _break _me."

There is a moment pause following his declaration.

Harry holds onto his breath. He knows he's playing a dangerous game. What can he do to stop Death? Absolutely nothing. Death is a preeminent being who stalks the world of the unknown, while Harry is just a wizard who somehow stumbled upon the Deathly Hallows and through sheer luck became the Master of Death.

It is just a title. Nothing else.

But if Harry's speculations are right, and Death, after all, is just…

Death sits down on the spot across from where Harry sits. His black robe smothers the space in all its entirely. Harry forces back a chuckle at the sight.

"First, before we get started, you truly do need a name. I can't keep calling you Death. It's Death this, Death that, how about Noir? Yeah, Noir, how do you like that? I'm not very good with names, to be honest. Lily Luna? James Sirius? Albus Severus? I am many things but original is not one of them."

Death looks down. "I have many names. Mictlantecuhtli. Nergal. Osiris. Mors. I've lost track. They all mean various things. Sometimes devourer, destroyer, ruler...and protector. You may call me what you like."

"That's no fun. What do _you_ want to be call? And Mictlantecuhtli?" Harry makes a face.

Death looks at him then. He tilts his head to the side and frowns like Harry's just asked the question to immortality. Well, actually, that's a very easy question to answer. Just find those bloody stupid Deathly Hallows.

"Manannán mac Lir," Death finally utters and gives Harry a look that says Harry is supposed to know what it means. "Manann, in short."

"Okay, Manann it is. Well Manann, I'm Harry."

"Yes, my master."

Harry squints his eyes at Death. If he doesn't know any better, he would say Death is making fun of him. "Er, no, no, no. No master. Just Harry is fine."

"Yes...master."

Harry throws his hand up in the air and gives up. "Whatever, we will revisit this issue at a later date. Now, tell me about this storm. Greyback, er, you mentioned that it all started at the very beginning. Tell me."

"Yes," Death replies. "I remember it very clearly, the day you became my master. You died and entered my world a glowing thing full of courage and bravery. Albus Dumbledore was the master then and he gifted you a choice."

"Albus? He was the Master of Death?"

"He did possessed all three Deathly Hallows, although not all together at the same time. Curious by his demeanor, I decided to accept him as my master. He accepted his own morality. Accepted death. You did too, and I knew then that you are to be my master."

Harry is suddenly very overwhelmed. He remembers the Forest. How he had died and met Dumbledore. He had thought it was all just a mad dream stem from his imagination. Dumbledore was real. He was alive.

"Wait. I still don't understand. Albus was alive?"

"He gifted you a choice," Death repeats. "To join him in _death_. Or to go back to the living. Either way, you were marked as mine. As Death's master, one usually harbors the realm of the dead, but you are a special case, my master. You are alive. You breath life into your lungs. You are the first and only living Master of Death."

Harry stares in astonishment. That doesn't sound very appealing. "Wow. Okay. Uhm, what happened to Albus? Where is he now?"

"He had me created him an island. Now, he's sitting in a cottage enjoying his retirement, as the mortals say, with a wizard named Gellert Grindelwald as we speak."

"Only Albus!" Harry laughs out loud. He thinks of Ginny and his little boys and Ron and … "Still, if the afterlife is like that, no wonder-"

Death stands up abruptly. "Do not be fool by what I have said. You are a different case. Special, but with limitations I cannot control. As a living Master, you will only die if you manage to take your own life. And the soul of the damned, unfortunately ... do not go to me."

"Manann, calm down," Harry says, voice sharp. "I've no intentions of killing myself while those I love are still alive."

Death looks at him, "And if the last one fall? "

"Then I shall go with them."

Death sits back down and puts his hands on his lap like a child waiting to be scolded. Harry was a father before it all went to hell. He knows what that posture means. Then he mentally kicks himself. To compare Death to a mere child.

"Thanks for telling me about Albus. It means a lot to me to know he's happy. He deserves it after everything that has been done to him. I would ask about my wife and the children but," Harry gives a sad smile. "That's quite alright. It sounds almost too tempting."

In reply to that, Death only says, "The dead sees what the living cannot."

"Thanks, whatever that means."

Harry stands up and groans as his bones ache. He points to the storm and grins. "Well? Go on. You said it all started when I became the Master of Death. Explain the connection for me."

"You became the Master of Death," Death begins. "On your quest to destroy a being know then as Voldemort."

"Voldemort?! Voldemort have to do with this?"

Death gives him a look.

"Sorry," Harry says. "Go on."

"Even I, along with Lady Völva, Fortunae, various other deities who rule the sixth world, fears a race we called the Vestige. They are remnants of a soul. Like water, we cannot truly grasp them for what they truly are. They feeds on my brethren the same way you label a Dementor. Only these beings are worse. For every life they take, they become stronger. Become whole. A leech in a pool of blood, as you would say. And all we know," Death pauses. "Is that it all begins with a single soul. One that divided itself into seven halves."

"Are you telling me Voldemort is still alive?"

"Not in the sense you are thinking, no," Death replies. "When you tried to destroy each Horcrux one by one, you made a mistake. You did not understand the law of life then. The living cannot take on the role of Death's. They cannot take a soul. And where you thought you destroyed the Horcruxes, you only destroyed the vessels. And without the vessels, the souls became free. Like Pandora's Box, you released them into the world."

Harry swallows, his mouth dry. All these years and Voldemort still haunts him in every single way. "And these Vestige...is the incoming storm?"

"Yes," Death answers. "But not just for you. It's for everyone you've ever care about. Your friends. Your family. Even strangers. It's coming to destroy your world. Your very self being. Inevitable and ruthless, nothing can stop it from coming. That's why I have to make you strong. Morals will only hold you back. You must face brutality with brutality."

"You say you are making me strong, and yet all you are doing is making me like this thing you want me to defeat," Harry closes his eyes. "That is just it, isn't it? Like you, it swallows life and becomes the very thing it swallows. It gains personality. It gains characteristic. I am sorry, Manann, but I cannot be what you want me to be."

Death's bottomless pits bear into Harry's core. It feels like he's being dissected alive.

"You say that now," he hears Death says. "But it's has only been the first lesson, my dear master. There are many, many more that awaits you. Can you endure? Time is on our side. We have an eternity to get it right."

Harry opens his eyes and stalks up to Death. "You can try and try all you want, but until I hear a better plan, I will not be a willing subject. You can torture me, kill me," he pokes at Death's chest. No matter that it doesn't move Death at all. "But you will not be rid of me. You say I am your master? Well, I can make your life a living _hell_."

Death looks up at him and smiles. He takes Harry fingers captive and holds it to his chest like it's a lifeline. "Did you know your soul shines brighter than any other souls? Especially when you are angry. It's a magnificent sight."

"Er," Harry says, and blushes for some strange reason. "Okay? Thanks."

"There's indeed another way," Death whispers and brings Harry's hand to his face. He kisses each knuckle softly and tenderly like it's a treasure. "Stupid. Time consuming. And the worst part is the possibility of failure. I fear for your heart."

Harry wrenches his hand away. His heart is beating fast. "Tell me," he gasps.

"We go back to the very beginning. No, even way before that. To the spark that started it all," Death stands up. "Voldemort may be a power hungry beast, but he was not born that way. Given the right circumstances, he would have become legendary. Tom Riddle was a genius of his own. Yes, we will go back and we will change him. Make him _right_."

"Time travel?" Harry smirks. "I didn't know Death could time travel."

"Death is timeless. I can travel back, but I cannot travel further. It's only through time that has already been."

"Well whatever, good luck reigning a young Tom Riddle into the right path."

Death waves a hand. The screaming souls of the ocean disappear, replaced by clear, blue saltwater. Harry sighs in relief. Looks like everything is getting wrap up. He can't wait to beat Walton up, then kiss him, then beat him bloody again.

"Wrong," Death says and shatters Harry's thoughts just like that. "I will not be doing this alone, my dear master. _You _wanted a different plan, _you_ deal with Tom Riddle."

"Like hell I will."

"I would be more than willing to continue on with our lessons."

Harry glares at him. "You know, I liked you better when you got no personality. Fine, so what the deal? Let say we go back in time, then what? Raises little Tommy up like mommy and daddy? Teaches him about the fine points of life?"

"Yes, that's the plan."

"You cannot be serious."

Death looks away. "It's Dumbledore's idea."

Harry yells bloody virgin mary inside his head. "Of course it was. So how do we do this? Do we need a time turner, because I sort of broke it when I was-"

Harry stops as Death takes his hand. Death gives him a smile. Harry is suddenly all sort of nervous. He knows that smile. Harry wakes up screaming to that smile the last time he dreamt of Death, after all. It's a wicked smile. Foreboding. Ominous.

"Whatever you're thinking," Harry says. "Just know that we can talk this through like normal human beings. Oh wait, you are not human. Uh, tell me the plan, Manann, instead of just doing whatever painful things you are probably thinking inside that head of yours."

"Do you know what water stand for within a dream, my master?"

Harry looks to the ocean and comes out blank. "Er no, not really. Peace?"

"Depending on the sort of dream, it can symbolizes either life or death. It gives life to those that need it, and destroys the very things that don't. In this case, since we are about to try and reset an extremely important event, it can also means rebirth and renewal."

"How do you know so bloody much about dream interpretation, anyways?"

Death pauses. "A passing interest, you could say."

"Right...And what does the ocean have to do with anything?"

"My master, I have just told you. It's rebirth and renewal. A second chance," Death says. "We jumps to the abyss, of course."

"What?!" Harry yells. "No!"

"Yes," Death replies. And tugs them both in.

Harry falls into the ocean with Death holding onto his hand like steel. He struggles for breath and chokes without air. The water does not embrace him this time. It's Death.

They fall and fall and Harry dies.

He dies but he wakes up. Multiple times over to the same dream and always to the face of Death. Death watches him die and refuses to let his hand go. The abyss of Death's eyes. The abyss of the ocean. It's a disturbing similarity.

Death opens his mouth then and says something Harry cannot hear. He thinks it's a confession. Perhaps Death finally realizes this is just stupid. And now Harry just have to wait for bloody Walton to wake him up and end this nightmare. Harry closes his eyes. What a dream.

Something tugs at him.

Okay, that's little different. Harry peers his eyes open and chokes on air again. Death is gone. Replaced by a muscular man who is currently choking Harry to death with his grip. The man swims upward and brings Harry to the surface.

Harry sees land and closes his eyes again. Merlin, please let this be a dream.

Someone slaps him in the face. What in Merlin name.

"Marianne! That's not how you do mouth-to-mouth!"

"No way in God's name am I going to give my first kiss to a boy! He can't even bloody swim!"

"He's dying!"

"He's dead!"

"I swear! Argh! Move over, I will do it!"

Someone touches his face.

"Charlie, forgive me for the sin I am about to commit," Harry hears from above him. "I swear my heart belongs to only you, but I have to do this to save this poor boy..."

"Erm," Harry says and opens his eyes. The man and the woman shriek and scuttle backward like Harry's a murderer with a bloody knife. "...you don't have to."

"You are alive!" The woman, Marianne, yells. "Even the dead fears your love, Erik."

"Shut up, you stupid woman," the man, Erik, mumbles and gives Harry a scowl like Harry's to blame. "He wasn't dead. And Charlie kisses me all the time."

Harry groans and takes a deep breath. "Excuse me, can you tell me the year?"

"Did you drown and hit your head, boy? It's 1937!"

Stupid Death and his stupid plans. 1937. The year before Dumbledore come. Riddle should be around ten years old. At least Harry don't have to worry about diapers. Now the problem is just finding him.

"Are we anywhere near London?"

"Of course we are, we are in it," the man gives Harry a look of worry. "Say, do you need to go to a hospital, mate?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, no need. Can you point me where the Wool's Orphanage is?"

"Of course!" The man instantly brightens. "It's where Charlie works! Are you thinking of adopting? I want to, but Charlie wants me to wait, and, and-"

Marianne stamps on his feet. Smiles sweetly at Harry. Then whispers harshly to Erik. "Are you trying to tell him your whole life? Come on, we're going to be late for the storytelling! And get you out of those clothes! You're like a wet cat! I hate cats!"

"Storytelling?" Harry asks, curious.

"Yes, it's Charlie's favorite book," Erik answers. "_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_, I think?"

With that, the two run off, the woman frowning and the man laughing. They make an odd pair.

Then Harry realizes that he's dripping wet. And that he have got no wand. And that Erik never told him where to go. And that Death is a cruel bastard.

"Great," Harry mutters to himself. "Welcome to wonderland, Harry."

\- End of Chapter 3 -

It is all coming together...or is it? Hehehe

Due to longness of the chapter, I had to cut the chapter in half. Harry won't meet Tom until next chapter.

Next Chapter: An Eye for an Eye


	4. Update (please don't hurt me) xD

Hello everybody, this is Newio here (after a very long absence), and with some good/bad news.

This past year has been very, **very **busy for me. Basically, the gist of it is this: got sick, recovered, proudly joined the navy, got deployed multiple times…and then got injured. Then I got put on shore duty with nothing to do but focus on healing. I don't like to twiddle my thumbs and sit around so I joined some online college classes. Still have some free time so I decided to go back and read some of the stories I've written laying around on my dusty laptop…and the horror!

Ha! Number 1 writer mistake, re-reading your story before it's finished. The grammar, the story line, the OCs…oh lord, I'm glad I didn't publish the rest of the chapters in this story. That's the bad news. The good news?

I'm writing again! My passion for HP is finally back after I watched the new spin-off trailer. I have better plans for this story, with way better characterization. That out of the way, here's what to happen:

1) I'm going to rewrite all the chapters for this story, including the ones already published

2) Publish some new stories, including the ones I've promised long before (like a year ago, haha-ha..ha)

Thanks for those that PM'ed me, I feel not only responsible but determined to finish this story, _In Life and Death_. I have a year on shore duty, I'm sure I can make the most of it and give and what I _can _give.

Love you all,

Newio


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